Another dream, another world?
by DunkleSans
Summary: Most of his life has been the cult. Salvatore, confused and directionless, consults with the father of the cult, Grigori, to achieve the will to dream actively, to dream cautiously. And dream he did... but he stepped too far in, unprepared for the world he was about to enter. Salvatore has crossed into Mundus. (Includes CHIM and other lore heavy related nonsense.)
1. Chapter 1

Dreams… they are a funny thing. They can be more real than your first kiss… and they can be more real than the time you cut yourself with the kitchen knife. But is it only real to the mind? Everything we experience when we dream, lucid or otherwise, are as familiar as our own heartbeat. But when we wake up, with or without the memory of the dream, does it truly end? Does the world in that dream disappear? Why does it appear again in the next dream?

The cult taught him much. At first he felt unease by their teachings and practices. They were so alien, so unreal and illogical that he started to doubt them. Salvatore did enjoy their company though. They acted very much like normal people when not performing their practices. Much of the cult's beliefs were inspired by the many teachings and beliefs of Buddhism, Shintoism and Hinduism. The rituals, pilgrimages, the method of worship and the pilgrimage one must take. Sal experienced much of these after his initiation rite, but not one did he feel that they amount to what he was supposed to learn or do. What was the purpose?

The cult itself dedicates itself to achieving personal goals through dreams. They believe they could achieve divinity through dreams, transcend to other realms, cross dimensions and create something from nothingness. Mind over matter… it definitely sounded ridiculous.

Every night for the past few weeks he had studied on the concepts of dreams, cross referencing sources from other religions to the sciences and metaphysics. Nothing. Days went by and Sal still could not understand it. His brown hair grew unkempt, lack of grooming and trimming had made his hair touch his shoulder. Book after book, website after website, and each hour felt like an eternity and it only frustrated him more. Then he reached the point where he was fed up; he tossed his books aside, yelled in agitation and thrashed about his bedroom. They expected so damn much from him and he had nothing to show for all his work. They'd berate him for being so distant, disconnected from the way and would push him to do more; if they knew so much then how come they never achieved their goals? Their excuse is what shut him up though: dreaming in general, managing and controlling your dream in rapid succession is the first step. And they had done so. Their eyes did not lie; they have dreamed... and they dreamed many.

He appeared before the confession booth in the cult church; Father Grigori had little to no acolytes but he still kept up with the system. They had many devoted followers with unquestionable loyalties… all except him. Grigori was not surprised when he saw him enter the booth, but he smiled and welcomed him regardless. Out of the many followers in this cult, the only one who offered him comfort rather than lecture was the head of the cult.

"Dreams guide you acolyte Salvatore." He said.

"And also you father," Sal responded. "Forgive me but I am troubled father… I feel as though I am lost."

"The sound of your anger was indication enough," he said with a chuckle. "But pray tell, what is it you are lost on?"

"The dreams father… I can't dream… I can't shape or mold a dream let alone have one. I've tried for a great and many days but… I feel lost."

The father looked at him with sympathizing eyes and breathed slowly. He took the time to collect his thoughts before he spoke, "dreams cannot be sought after physically my son. Your studies have showed you the methods and ways, but your mind, not your body, should be the one to attempt it."

"But I have. I've thought of everything, thought of all methods and_" he was interrupted by the father, "that is your problem. You thought. Dreams do not come through thinking Salvatore… they come through emotion, command and openness. You have not yet commanded your mind to open itself to the dreams… you most give yourself open to let them flow freely… and you must feel them as they enter. Dreams cannot be demanded, only allowed."

Sal was silent as he listened to the father's teachings. His mind gazed through the other side, peering through the old father's gaze before it drifted down to the floor. He took in every word he had to say before he finally responded, "Allow… the dreams to flow… how do I know if I'm dreaming?"

"Remember our mantra son." Then Sal bowed his head and recited the mantra of the cult, "through sleep, comes dreams. Through dreams, comes life. Through life, comes knowledge. Through knowledge, comes enlightenment. Through enlightenment comes the will; awake in the dream."

"That's right Salvatore. Remember, this Mantra is not just used as a means of worship. Repeat yourself this every hour of every night before midnight, then when you sleep, you will wake in the dream."

"And… the pilgrimages? The rituals? The rites? What do they serve?"

"They serve as our connection to the immaterial realm. The pilgrimages are to enlighten us, to connect ourselves to our world on a deeper, personal connection. It is because our world is also connected to the immaterial realm; so very much so that they are touching, but neither of them existing in the same place. Through this connection, we will allow ourselves to connect to this realm, and thus, allow the dreams flow from there to us. This, along with the rituals and practices, are the necessary requirements needed to achieve our personal goals."

"Such as divinity?"

"Yes and much more. Though I believe my acolytes may have misinterpreted the meaning of achieving divinity. We cannot mold the world we live in through the means of our dreams. But we can influence worlds we create through our dreams. To remove ourselves from this realm into another, to create a world or even to cross into other dimensions and realms is a difficult process."

"So… everything… is just a dream?"

"No Salvatore… you misunderstand. Dreams are the gateways. Dream alone are just dreams if one does not have total understanding and control. Sometimes… even the most enthusiastic acolyte will be unprepared for the troubles ahead."

"And how do you know this?" Grigori fell silent with that. The pain in his eyes and the tension of his trembling lips as he bit into them were clear indication of some… unsavory memories.

"I've lost acolytes before your initiation into the cult. I've seen men go mad from the revelations, from the worlds they've visited. Never had I felt so accomplished… yet so ashamed. They have made a huge step on the right path… but they awoke in dreams that would destroy lesser men's minds. The fear… the agony… the madness it caused... it was terrible. Beautiful that they have took the next level in dreaming… but at the same time, horrific… as they were unprepared… alone and in pain. I have never mentioned the successes of the previous acolytes to you. Even the other acolytes from before swore an oath to keep it behind closed doors. It would ruin the cause and the belief this cult had built."

He was stunned. Salvatore wasn't sure what to say. Successful? It couldn't be. And to think these successes ended up in poor favors for the dreamers. How did one survive such an ordeal? What sort of horrors did they experience? What was waiting for them in the beyond that they've so desperately sought after?

"Bah…" Grigori started to speak once more, "I've shouldn't have mentioned that. I… I think… I may end the session today. And Salvatore… remember this tale, for I feel that my method was wrong, and I've lead you new generation on a dangerous path. Whatever realm you enter, whatever dream you have to take you, remember my warnings… remember my tale… do not succumb." And with that, Grigori slid out of the booth and rapidly walked towards the quarters. Considering what time it was, Sal felt the need to sleep too. Hopefully this time he will dream… and he will dream easy.

His bedroom was small, but comforting. It staved off the cold and weather that threatens him and the other acolytes. A small desk in which to read and write and study, a single, cushioned wool bed to rest on, and a simple ceiling light to illuminate the dark brown interior. With such a small window, it was difficult to see much outside. Salvatore turned to his desk to study one last time before he knelt on the bed to recite the mantra. Ten times; he had forgotten about it though. To dream in bliss is to dream in comfort; he must at least dream of something pleasant to avoid such horrid experiences.

And dream he did. As he climbed into the bed, tucked himself under the sheets, repeating the mantra in his head until the mind became blank and null to everything, he saw a form. Alien geometries that shaped into unrecognizable, indescribable forms. They were beautiful though… beautiful than he could imagine. To him, it looked like some ordinary meadow illuminated under the twilight sky, but it wasn't. It was as though two minds are at work; a veil cast over the nature of the dream, as if to conceal its true beauty. Was what he thought it was real? Or was it a guise? Dreams were always under a form of guise. The more the dream took shape, the more he saw. Beautiful… utterly beautiful. As if by instinct, he reached for the tuft of grass, caressing the blades underneath the palm of his hand. Soft, smooth, and wet. The dream flowed, he allowed it to come. He touched the dream, and it reacted, giving him insight into his own dream. The alien shapes come back, and awestruck was Sal when he gazed upon the misshapen beauty.

He felt as though doors opened in his world, he felt the need to explore, to traverse through these doors. There were so many though… so many odd sharpened and colored doors that it was difficult to decide on which one.

One door stood out from the others… more so than ever. It was large, made of brass, operated by a great and many clockworks and gears that defined mechanisms. It looked so alien, almost magical in nature. There were slots filled in with strange runic boxes of incomprehensible origin. No alphabet on Earth was matched to this. Not even dead civilizations that have this sort of structure.

Compelled to open it, Salvatore reached for the door, pressed his palm against the titanic metal brass plate and pushed against it. No good. He tried another part of the door, then another, and another until he heard a click when he pushed against a loosened slot. The box shook and sunk into the hole, matching the others around the door. The gears and clocks turned and shifted, it spread the metal brass doors in a vertical shape, and pulled away from each other. The abyss beyond the door trembled and shuddered, as if beckoning the young acolyte. In fear he recoiled, backed away from the door as if to run. But when he turned, he felt several invisible hands grasp around his arms and legs, pulling him into the void. Sal screamed and yelled for help, but could not do anything to remove himself from the binds that hold him. Darkness enveloped him as he continued to struggle, until all he could see was black.

The more he thought, the more his head hurt. Salvatore had been whisked away from his newly formed dream into another it seemed. Or… at least he thought it was. The dream felt real yes, but this felt… strange. Everything was… real… more than real. To put in perspective, it felt alive… truly… independently… as if he was awake. Yet he wasn't… he knew that.

He arose from the ground, finding himself beside a stone path leading north and south. At least… he thought it is. Wherever here was, it wasn't home. One look around showed him a strange geographical landscape. Hills and plains inhabited by strange looking trees and giant twisted mushrooms, awkward stone fence and lamppost architects that closely resembled the Hindus craftsmanship and oddly shaped, floating, jellyfish like beings.

This had to be a dream. It just had to. He thought to himself how impossible this was. But it was real… by the dreams it was all real. Then… a sudden compulsion told him to look up. Surly the sky will provide answers. But no. What he saw was nothing a mortal should comprehend. It was impossible… beyond impossible! This was no sky at all. There was… there was no explanation for it. There was nothing to describe the night sky. There was no space that he could see or understand. It had no identifiable color, shape or meaning. But that wasn't the only thing that distraught him so greatly. Floating in the sky were two physical beings… or half a being… or… is it a being at all? Is it a person? A thing? The swarm of information of having to awaken in this seemingly bizarre new world had knocked the wind out of Sal. He fell onto the plains again, drifted off into sleep… if one could sleep in a dream.

There were dark visions… visions that plagued his mind. Great shadows swallowed him whole; from the ground up they reached head to toe, threatening to engulf him. Dread and fear had overtook him, until a soothing voice called out from beyond the shadows. It was then, did he finally wake.

"Wake up… are you okay? You're dreaming! Wake up!" The voice was calm, but loud enough to be audible. When Sal did awoke, he was greeted by an ashen skinned looking… human… with eyes as red as blood and hair as white as snow.

"Stand up… there you go! You were dreaming… what's your name?"

Salvatore took a look around the environment again. The sky… looked like the sky. There were stars, constellations, nebulas it seemed… and… two moons. Two moons in place of the impossible shapes he witnessed. Were they even real? Was that a dream too? No it couldn't be… but it looked normal to say the least. Well… normal as being on some world having two moons have. But only then did he respond to the grey skinned humanoid creature with a nervous tone.

"My name is Salvatore… w-where… where the hell am I?" were his first words.

"Why, you're in Morrowind, Imperial."

Salvatore took a while to hear what he said, still processing everything around him. He turned to the man again, puzzled and confused.

"What?"


	2. Chapter 2

The cult had a very funny view on creation and the universe. Salvatore had imagined it be that the universe was one big dream and everything that exists is part of the collective unconscious, ala Jung Psychology 101. To the heart of the matter though, it got more confusing than he assumed.

The cult really, had no particular religious figure. Nothing they say or do is scientific or logical but neither was it theological as they worship no god. Though what they had to say was very intriguing to doubting Sal: 'There are four aspects in the universe, and you only need to know two. Science, religion, nature and the Unknown. Nature and the unknown are what you need to know.' He didn't understand it at first, but their explanation was sound. What is it about the Unknown and Nature that stands out from the others? Nature cannot be bound by either, and the Unknown cannot be explained by either side. It's what connects Nature to the Unknown; both are unbound to reason or alteration. It is how the cult believed they can achieve greater understanding and control over their own future, this 'mind over matter' mindset by opening to Nature and thus opening themselves into the Unknown.

But with the Unknown, the cult practically believed that they can do anything. They believe they can do it through dreaming our way. It was unclear whether or not they can physically move themselves through the dream, but that is what they were suggesting. Hell, the acolytes even shared dreams with each other. It sure was a revelation that dreaming had a special meaning to them. Some even theorized that they could share a dream with another being, one not of the cult. Maybe even dream with another being from across time and space.

Like before, he had doubted it. His parents though, were very different. They believed in it with their hearts and minds. They had sent Sal to live with the cult so he would be enlightened as they had. At least they didn't jab knives into his chest and chanted some ominous Latin speech about sacrifice. Then again, he was known to stereotype.

So what would explain… this? It certainly felt real, yet it was part of the Unknown. Or rather… it felt like it was beyond the Unknown. Could he had achieved the feat of traversing the planes of space time and reality into a whole new world? That would explain this grey skinned looking Drow that reminds him of those old fantasy books and Dungeons & Dragons game he played with his fellow young acolytes. Though he looked a bit more intimidating than a Drow. Blood red looking eyes that long white hair, and the gruffness of his voice. He was rather kind though; he provided him with some amount of comfort. The elf looking being had been meaning to set up camp before his encounter with Sal. A small tent, a nice fire, and hospitable manners.

"So, might want to explain to me why you were in the middle of the road passed out?" he said. Boy his voice sounded so damn scratchy it was hard trying to hear him.

"That's… exactly what I wanted to know. First thing I knew I was dreaming… I was… dreaming, in control of it… then there were these odd doors. One of them… one of them looked so odd and out of place out of them all. It was massive, brass, physical that I wasn't… sure if it was part of the dream." Salvatore rubbed his eyes and groaned, a massive headache struck at him like a train after he awakened from his trauma over the sky. "I am not even sure if this is a dream… damn... And I can't wake up…"

The elf looked as though he didn't understand a damn thing he said. That or he had assumed he was a bit loopy.

"Well, you certainly are awake. Here you are, in Morrowind, with little recollection of what really happened. As far as I can assume, you must have stumbled upon some Dwemer contraption. It would kind of make sense for an amnesiac like yourself to imagine something akin to a dream that made you lose your memory."

But he didn't. He still remembered the cult, the practice, the dreams and teachings. It was all real, as was this strange place. Yet the elf's understanding… didn't help understand it at all. Dwemer? Morrowind? What did he even mean?

"No… no it was a dream… I am sure of it. I've…" if he did arrive in another reality… then how would he know? "I've… I'm sure. T-the cult… taught me all about what dreams can do… and I was able to achieve it."

"Magic can influence the untrained mind Imperial, whatever cult taught you a trick it must have messed up your mind badly."

There was that word again.

"Imperial? What? You said that before… I'm not an Imperial." Sal responded.

"You look, act, and walk like an Imperial. Though your tone and dialect is unusual… which part of Cyrodil do you hail from? The Nibenay? Colovian Highlands?"

"I'm… what? No w-where on Earth are those? I-I'm from Italy! I live on the island of Sicily w-what is this Nibenay? Why… why…" his head started to pain him again. "Son of a bitch my head…"

The elf said nothing and just stared at him. Oh boy he must have really thought he was nuts. Though he kept a straight face. Maybe he thought he was sincere, but he certainly must have felt like he was mentally ill.

"I've never heard of this… Itally or Sissilly… No province on Tamriel has a town or city or country called that."

Tamriel… is that the name of this world? Or, maybe this continent?

"I need some sort of aspirin I have a massive headache…"

The elf sat there for a bit, then he turned around and rummaged through his pack. He pulled out what looked like a motor and pastel with some foliage and mushrooms clumped together. Then he spoke, "I have nothing of this sort… but I do know of a remedy for it." He proceeded to grind the ingredients into the motor as he continued to speak to Sal.

"If… you are not Imperial… then what are you? You sure are not a Breton, or a Nord."

"N-Norse?"

"No, Nord. You are not that tall to be one."

"I'm a human if that's what you mean."

He looked like he got a bit irritated.

"So are the Redguards, the Imperials and the Nords. But you aren't either of them."

Now Salvatore felt a bit irritated.

"What is there to explain? I am an Italian who hails from Sicily with an obtuse knowledge of English! What wouldn't I be?"

"Someone not from here that's for sure."

Understatement of his entire day, and it was not over yet. He let out a sigh and just slumped forward.

"I just… I want to go home. I wish I didn't dream… I just…"

The next few minutes were nothing but silence. The elf continued to pound the raw materials together and churned them before finally adding a dash of water.

"Here… drink this. This will cute your aching ailment."

He almost rejected the offer, but not wanting to deal with the pain anymore, he gladly reached for the motor and downs the concoction in one fell gulp. It… well tasted fine, and it was refreshing to say the least. He let out a sigh of relief and wiped the water from his maw.

"Thanks… Who and… what are you exactly? Are you… an elf?" kind of an odd question considering he was an elf.

"Yes I am. Specifically, I am a Dunmer, a Dark Elf. My name's Cindorin. I am an adventurer… of sorts."

Well that cleared things up. At least he didn't slip and call him a Drow. The Dunmer looked at him, then back at the campfire. Then he continued to speak, "I shouldn't really be here though. Well… this far down at least. Where I am heading is… Argonian territory. I have a friend in Black Marsh I need to meet but I'm hoping I don't run into trouble with the others. Animosity still stirs in their hearts after years of slavery."

Salvatore held up his hand to him and said, "slow down slow down now… number one: who…'what,' are Argonians? Number two: slavery?"

"Ahhh… that's right… you know nothing at all about this place. Well… to put it into the simplest forms; the Argonians are the tree dwelling lizard folks who hail from the swamps of Black Marsh. For generations my kin had been resorting to beasts such as the Khajiit and Argonians for slaves. More so from the Black Marsh. Although slavery was abolished near the end of the Third Era, it wasn't until this Era did they finally get their vengeance of the years of raiding their lands and enslaving their kin. Many of us were killed and or displaced as a result."

It didn't sound like he held animosity over their destructive comeback. It was as though he felt they had deserved it. But then again, Salvatore did not know much about the Dunmer and their past. It was just one ugly stain over the many that is made up of Dunmer history, one that Sal might not enjoy. So he decided to change the subject, "and who is this friend you are going to see?"

"An Argonian herself, a scholar by trade. Grew up most of her life in Cyrodil. She likes to research into Dragon Breaks. It's odd considering Argonins really have no sense in time, as their Hist trees do. They see it only as an illusion."

By the time he got through with this, he would have more questions than he would have answers. Hists, Dragon Breaks; what else was next?

"Ya know what? I decided that I don't honestly care. No offense, but this would take a lifetime for me to understand it."

The Dunmer actually laughed at that statement as he puts his equipment back in his bag.

"I guess it would, for humans that is. But I think we've spoken enough on this matter for today. You must rest. The medicine will do its work accordingly. We have to make haste by daybreak. It will take a good solid week or two to get to Stormhold. Ever since its destruction by Umbriel, reconstruction hasn't been looking too good. The undead stragglers are also an issue. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Then the Dunmer retreated into his tent to rest, leaving Sal to ponder. When he realized he mentioned undead in his statement, he turned around and lets out a big flat, "What?"

The morning sun greeted the young acolyte with warmth and comfort. Though he wondered if the sun was another fabrication of something else. The mental stress from his first revelation about the moons and the sky sure had taken his toll on him. A wonder how he didn't go mad. Maybe his mind adjusted to it? Or maybe this is what he HAS to see or else go mad by their true form? What was this sun's true form?

He didn't seem to question it as he stood over the remains of the fire pit. Having awoken early just to get a good look at his surroundings. The Deshaan plains were massive, expansive, stretching across the landscape with a few noticeable exceptions. Mountains in the distance, large bodies of water, trees and rocks and… giant shrooms about a hundred meters from each other, and the hills where the jellyfish looking creatures float about.

If this was just another part of his dream, it sure was helluva dream. Everything felt so real, in fact the idea that this world had an identity alone was surreal enough to not be a dream. Even the Dunmer, Cindorin was it? He was just as surreal but real than this world.

"Oh, you're up," he said as he emerged from the tent. "I half expected you to be still asleep."

"Well, me too," Sal responded. "But… I woke up to this."

Cindorin wondered if he meant about that dream of his or just sleeping in general. He decided to shake it off and started to pack up the camp. Then he spoke. "Well we are going to do some more sleeping on our journey. If I had my damned scroll I would had teleported us to Stormhold by now."

"E-excuse me, tele…port?"

"Yes. I am not well skilled in Mysticism so I rely on them to get around."

"And… wait… Mysticism? Do you know magic?"

"Yes. Magicka flows strongly through me, but without proper knowledge, my spells will mostly fail."

This sounded more far-fetched than the cult. But by this point, he had to learn to just accept it for what it was and stop complaining about it. It was the only way he can remain mentally intact. Though he did wonder if he could do anything like that. He wasn't part of this world, would it not apply to him?

"Well… let us make haste then?"

"Yes. We have much ground to cover."

On his little adventure, the Acolyte took the time to view the landscape before him. How he could just take off his robe and run, letting the air beat against his face as he traverses this seemingly gorgeous world. Dream or not, it was starting to leave a mark on him. It had this… charm. A charm he didn't expect to find. As frightening as it was, it was also beautiful. It felt so alive… it was alive. This Dunmer was alive. That jellyfish thing was alive. At first he didn't really bother to know about it, but during his travel, he inquired the elf about it. Starting with the jellyfish.

Morrowind, where the Dunmer are… were from, the Netchs, Guars, the mushrooms, he learned much about this place. Though Morrowind wasn't the only place Cindorin taught him. He taught him about Cyrodil, its people, culture, geographies, the dreughs, the Arcane University, and much of the influence the cities have from other cultures. Bruma and Cheydenhal were important examples. He went on to teach him about the Aldmers, the Argonians and Blackmarsh, the swamps and the living Hists that the lizards worship, the Wood Elves who lived among the tall trees of this Valenwood, the Khajiit and the great Eleswyr tropics and desert. Hammerfall, High Rock, Skyrim, and more. Of course he never really delved into ancient history, it proved to be more time consuming considering he was more concerned with recent events than the past.

Whatever he set out to do, he was more involved with accomplishing it. True he did much to satisfy Sal's curiosity to his delight, but he was more concerned with his task. He never told Sal about it, but he never expected Sal to ask. The human was more concerned with his own well-being in this alien world. He did try to tell much about himself and where he was from, but Cindorin couldn't comprehend half of what he was saying. Hell, he couldn't even understand what Italy was, let alone contraptions like trains, phones. Even pronouncing them was difficult. It was bad enough he used similes and metaphors that he didn't recognize.

About several days passed, Sal started to feel weary walking and just camping outside. Luckily, they stopped by a tradehouse, or an inn of sorts. Of course if his word was anything to go by, and he is sure it was, it may be headed by Argonians. If it did, he'd probably get the chance to see one for himself. And wouldn't you know it, he did. And he was just as awestruck and intimidated as he was when meeting Cindorin... except twice as bad. He was practically afraid to walk up to the inn keeper.

"Imperial, Dark Elf," the lizard spoke. "Odd couple coming this way. What brings you here?"

Sal was practically stuttering, only letting out mumbled words that can only be comprehended as 'uhh' and 'duhh.' It didn't seem to annoy the lizard much, then again he can't tell if he was annoyed due to his complex facial features. He was dark, green, he had red eyes and a round pupil, which was an odd quality since he'd expected slits. Some did have slits though.

"Smoothskin?" he spoke again.

"Oh pardon him. He's… uhh… an amnesiac," explained the Dunmer. "So… he may be afraid of you."

"I'm surprised he didn't run away from you then." The lizard joked.

"So am I. Anyways, this is Salvatore. I am Cindorin. We're looking for a place to stay."

"Salvatore? Hurrrmm… odd name for a Cyrodilin. For the two of you, it will be about twenty gold."

Another little something Sal will have to get used too. Well the lizard took the cake that's for sure. He almost expected them to be chameleon like though, with the whole swampy tree dwelling reptiles that they are. But then it would probably give him more nightmares.

"We'll take it." Cindorin dropped a small pouch containing twenty gold coins. The lizard nods and huffs, reaching below the desk to pull out the room keys. While he was doing that, the front door opened once more. The acolyte was compelled to look, and it was just some misshapen looking old man. He looked around, then took a seat on the stool by the desk.

"Give me flin," he spoke.

The Argonian rose up from the desk, placed the key by the two and then addressed the old looking human, "We have none here. Though we do have Bloodwine."

"Then give me that."

The old man dropped several gold pieces on the desk. The inn keeper took the gold and turned to the drink rack to pull out the wine. How Sal never noticed it till now was beyond him. He was probably too stunned to even matter about the environment; that Argonian took all of his attention. Then his attention shifted to the old man. Finally someone who… was… normal? At first glance he seemed like that but no. He had some weird look to his eyes.

"It should be here…" he said aloud. Then turned to face Sal. When the Argonian came back with the Bloodwine, he stood up, grasped for the bottle and walked over towards the window. Swiftly he downed the wine, never removing his gaze. Then he placed it down on the table next to him, reached into his breeches to pull out a diary of sorts. He was scribbling something fierce and grumbling all the while. He turns back to face Salvatore and huffed. "Nonononononn…" he blubbered. "It has to be. He…" he closed the diary and walked over towards the Argonian. "Room."

"Ten gold for the night."

"I'll take it."

He went back underneath the desk to pull out the key. The old man continued to look at Sal and then back to the Argonian.

"Ya know, you smoothskins sure don't come around here often. Why start now?"

"Reasons…"

The old man took the key as soon as the Argonian placed it on the desk. The Dunmer just peered at him, trying to read him. He noticed how he always set his gaze towards Sal; something felt… very off about him. Salvatore didn't seem to notice it as much as he did though.

"Come Sal," he spoke finally. "Let us rest. We got a long day ahead of us." And with that, they drifted from the desk and up the stairs. The last thing he heard before he entered the bedroom was the old man. "Unless the day comes at all."


End file.
